


Another Pet

by Ellie226



Series: You, Me, and Baby Make Three [15]
Category: Glee
Genre: Age Play, Daddy Kink, Multi, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:24:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie226/pseuds/Ellie226
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexandra McQueen is good. A pet that was more helpful would be better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Pet

Kurt sat at the counter, picking disinterestedly at the bowl in front of him. Although there were many amazing things about Papa staying home with him now, there were also things that he did not like. Lunch was one of them.

Before, Kurt had eaten what he wanted. He was supposed to eat real food, a rule instituted after the day Daddy and Papa came home to Kurt vomiting pastel because he decided to eat an obscene number of conversation hearts. And he wasn’t allowed to cook anymore because Daddy and Papa didn’t like it when he used the oven or the stove.

But, he could eat leftovers that he could microwave. Or stuff he could put in the toaster. And he ate a lot of peanut butter and jelly. He wasn’t allowed to skip meals, but Daddy and Papa normally didn’t ask too many uncomfortable questions about meals when they weren’t there. As long as Kurt didn’t start to lose weight, and he could report a reasonable entree, nobody noticed if he wasn’t eating vegetables.

But now that Papa was home, he made lunch. It wasn’t fancy; Papa and Kurt often assembled sandwiches or reheated leftovers. And sometimes, it was great because Papa would make funny shaped pancakes or let Kurt eat spaghettios even though Daddy swore that they were not real food.

But today, it was awful. All winter, Papa and Kurt had made soup on Mondays. It was warm, and it was something that they could do together. Mondays were hard because Kurt wanted Daddy; it gave them time together to ease back into the week when it was just Papa and Kurt, and it gave Papa something to eat for lunch at least twice a week and dinner once. Dave had also found the structure of knowing what every day was going to be had been helpful. It had decreased tantrums.

So Monday was the day they made soup. All different kinds of soup. Kurt had liked making chicken noodle soup. They’d made their own noodles, and it was like playing with play-doh. The chili was fun because they got to bake cornbread too. He thought the cheeseburger macaroni soup was just delicious. 

This new ritual was a hit. Even if Kurt didn’t love the soup they made, he loved that he had gotten to help make it because he loved cooking still. And, he had actually found most of the soup to be pretty delicious.

But this Monday, Papa had looked into the fridge, and he had decided that they had too many vegetables that were on the verge of turning. So, pulling them out, he placed stuff on the counter.

“What’s the first thing Kurt?” he asked his boyfriend, who was industriously coloring at the counter.

“Hands and apron,” Kurt said, breaking his focus. “What are we making this week Papa? Can we make noodles ‘gain?”

“We can put noodles in the soup if you want pumpkin. Hands and apron,” he reminded, readying everything.

“What are we making though Papa?” Kurt asked, even as he went to do what he was told.

“Stone soup,” Dave said, coming up behind Kurt to kiss him on the back of his neck and then wash his hands.

“No,” Kurt giggled, “Can’t put rocks in soup. Daddy wouldn’t eat that.”

They dried their hands, “We’re making everything soup,” Papa told him. “We’ve got stuff that’s going to go bad, so we’re just going to throw everything in.”

Kurt made a face, “That doesn’t sound so yummy Papa,” he said doubtfully.

“Can you cut up the carrots?” Dave asked, handing him a knife. “Bite size, okay baby?”

Kurt set about doing that. They chopped up carrots, onion, and celery. This was okay and familiar to Kurt.

Then Papa grabbed the metal bowl, and he threw in the vegetables they cut up already, and tossed them with salt and olive oil. After adding a few minced garlic cloves, he wiped his hands off.

“Now what?” Kurt asked, watching.

“Now,” Papa told him, tossing the vegetables in the waiting pot, “We put in some vegetable broth and leftovers.” He sauteed for a while, until everything was cooked, before adding the broth.

Kurt watched with interest as Papa pulled more stuff from the fridge. He was okay with the green beans. Papa stirred the pot occasionally, allowing Kurt to cut the green beans from last night into bite size chunks. They threw in leftover broccoli, which Kurt was less excited about. But Papa insisted that Kurt wouldn’t be able to taste with everything else.

Canned tomatoes were okay with Kurt. The kale got a face though. “Papa, I don’t like kale. It feels like chewing on construction paper.”

“It’ll soften up. Do you think Daddy would want chicken in it? Or should we do beans?” Through trial and error, Dave had found that Kurt was often more reasonable when he referenced the absent Blaine. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he wasn’t going to object to a tactic that worked.

“Chicken,” Kurt said, getting more leftovers. “Do you think that Daddy will really eat this?”

Dave nodded. “Get the pesto too baby.” 

Kurt grabbed pesto and handed it to Papa, watching with interest as Dave poured in almost the entire (small) jar. He liked pesto. 

He did not like brussels sprouts. He didn’t care what Papa said; they were not food. “No Papa,” he said, when he saw Dave taking the leftovers from the fridge. “Don’t like those.” He positioned himself between the stove and Papa. This was his soup too; he couldn’t let Papa ruin it with those.

Dave tried to just move around Kurt, but that didn’t work so well because Kurt just mirrored his movements.

“Papa, no,” Kurt sounded calm and reasonable. He was sure of it. This was not whining or sassing.

Papa put the brussels sprouts on the counter, fixing Kurt was a look. “Yes. It’s maybe two servings for the entire pot of soup. Putting them in won’t kill you.”

“Yes it will,” Kurt put his hands on his hips and pulled himself up to his full height. It worked when Daddy was mad at him.

Unfortunately for Kurt, this wasn’t a scare tactic that worked when Kurt was the one using it. “Kurt, you wouldn’t be trying to tell me what to do, would you? Because I’m fairly certain we’ve had discussions about this before.”

“They’re yucky!” Kurt managed to not stomp his foot, but he whining a bit now. 

Dave shook his head, “Baby, you ate these two nights ago. Remember? You helped me make them. We sauteed them with bacon, and you said that they were okay. I get that you don’t love brussels sprouts, but Daddy and I both like them.”

“No brussels sprouts Papa. They are not okay. They’re awful and disgusting, and I WON’T eat them.”

That was the one step too far. Putting his foot down was not the best tactic with Papa; it worked a lot more like waving a red cape in front of a bull.

Papa’s voice had lowered slightly, and he would have sounded scary to Kurt if Kurt had been paying any attention to how his coup was going. “You will eat them. Daddy and I have been very clear about food, and we almost always make what you like anyway. If I occasionally serve something you don’t like, it isn’t going to kill you.”

Kurt pretended to gag at that. Which was probably what pushed Papa over the edge. It was also the thing that got him swatted over to the corner.

“And you can wait there until I tell you to move,” Dave finished.

Kurt had hit his stride; Dave had let it go too long. “This isn’t the naughty spot Papa. This is just a corner. You’re going to confuse me, and then I won’t know what to expect.”

“Kurt!” Papa sounded like he had a very tight grip on a very small amount of patience, “You are one problem away from getting spanked. I’d like you to think about that before you keep talking back to me.”

Although Kurt had been going, he still recognized that tone of voice. He stilled, almost instantly, hands at his side. He didn’t want a spanking. He didn’t want brussels sprouts in his delicious soup, but that was a problem for later.

He tried to stay still and silent, waiting for Papa to let him out of the corner. After about 10 minutes, he started shifting. Standing in time out wasn’t good. It made his legs hurt. When shifting for a few minutes doesn’t get him released, he stepped it up.

“Papaaaaaa?” he said.

Dave had stopped making soup after he tossed the brussels sprouts into the pot. He was sitting at the counter, waiting. He made soup with Kurt; they could finish as soon as time out was over. He was working on having special “Just Papa and Kurt” rituals, and soup was going to be one of them.

“Not supposed to talk in time out baby,” he admonished. 

Kurt could hear it in Papa’s voice. Papa was the one you wanted to have send you to time out. He might say “no talking,” but it was “no talking baby,” not “no talking Kurt Elizabeth.” He fell silent, hoping that Papa would just release him now. 

Dave didn’t disappoint, “Are you ready to talk to me nicely?”

“Uh huh Papa. Sorry. I just don’t like them.”

Dave stood up, “I know pumpkin. Come here.”

Kurt walked over to Papa, happy to be done with time out. Leaning in, he got his hugs. When he was feeling better, he said, “Can I still help?”

“Of course,” Papa told him. “Can you get the flour to make noodles?”

Kurt nodded, pulling out flour. “Salt too Papa?”

“Salt too. And two eggs. Do you remember what else?”

“Milk,” Kurt said. 

“Smart boy,” Papa praised. Kurt felt like he shouldn’t like it when they said that, but he did. They fell back into the easy rhythm of cooking together. Dave had been surprised by how much he liked cooking to begin with. Adding Kurt in made it better, and it had become one of his favorite things to do with the baby. 

Kurt loved it too; he hadn’t had anyone to cook with really since his mother died. He had tried to teach his dad, but Burt was pretty hopeless in the kitchen. 

It didn’t take long to put the rest of the soup together, and the pasta was sitting, drying. Kurt was kind of sad to see this part of their week over, and Papa must have noticed his face.

Giving Kurt a hug as they cleaned up, Dave asked, “What do you think we should make for dinner tonight?”

Kurt leaned into Papa, thinking. “Tacos?” he suggested. 

“That sounds good,” Dave told him, “We can make guacamole too.”

Kurt nodded, going back to cleaning up. When they were done, he followed Papa around for a while. He was still trying to convince Papa of the importance of having a cleaning schedule, and it was hard to not wrest the laundry from Papa’s arms. Monday was not supposed to be laundry day.

Papa finally abandoned cleaning, opting to bodily pick Kurt up and carry him to the couch. They sat cuddling for a while, until Kurt’s stomach started grumbling.

“I bet the soup is done baby,” Papa told him.

Kurt wrinkled his nose, “We gotta put the noodles in.”

“I know. Are you hungry for lunch?”

Kurt sighed heavily, put upon. “I’d rather have cookies.”

“After lunch,” Papa promised, shifting Kurt off and then picking him up. “Do you want a ride?” he asked.

Kurt shook his head, shrieking when Papa tossed him over his shoulder. “Papa,” he complained, laughing. 

Dave continued toward the kitchen, giving Kurt a gentle swat to the bottom, “Who’s the best Papa in the world?” he asked.

“Not you,” Kurt told him. “Put me down Papa.”

“Who’s the best Papa, Kurt?” he asked, tickling the back of Kurt’s leg. “If you don’t answer me, I’m going to start spinning.”

Kurt shook his head wildly, “No Papa. No spins. You’ll make me dizzy.”

“Answer the question then,” Dave teased.

“You are,” Kurt said. “Now put me down so I can eat lunch.”

Dave pulled Kurt back up, and Kurt straddled Papa’s waist. He gave Dave a hug, holding on tightly for a moment before allowing himself to be settled onto his stool. He watched as Papa threw noodles into the soup.

“Please may I have chocolate milk?” he asked. His politeness was rewarded, and he happily swung his legs, drinking from his sippy cup, as he waited for the soup to finish. 

Dave dished up soup, making sure to give Kurt the bowl that only ended up with two brussels sprouts. He wasn’t a monster. He might want Kurt to eat them, but two was enough. 

Kurt was of the belief that two was too many. He ate around them and tried to get up to wash his own bowl when it was empty except for the two sprouts. Papa had at least been right about the kale though.

Papa wasn’t having it though, “Nice try baby. Two more bites.”

Kurt pouted as he sat down, stabbing at the brussels sprouts with his spoon. He didn’t WANT two more bites. 

“If you think it tastes bad, it’s going to be worse if you let it get cold. And, the kale was fine. Just try them pumpkin.” Papa had (of course) finished his soup and was now puttering around the kitchen, picking up.

Kurt rested his chin in his hand and watched Dave. When Papa got a call and had to step away to check something for Daddy, Kurt figured he had a chance.

Unfortunately for Kurt, Papa remembered past incidences with food, and he wasn’t dumb. “Kurt, you don’t move an inch. Understood? I want you in that stool the entire time. Just eat the last two bites pumpkin, and we can go and do something else.”

He nodded as he was told something else, and then he relayed the message to Kurt. “Daddy is agreeing with me and insisting that I tell you,” Dave rolled his eyes at Kurt as he said that. Blaine could get bossy now that Dave stayed home all day. It was like he wanted to make sure that everyone knew he was still the Daddy.

“Two seconds pumpkin. If those are gone when I get back, we’ll be able to do something else. Maybe bake cookies?”

Kurt could hear something on the other end of the phone. 

“No Blaine, I’m not bribing him. It’s,” Dave looked at Kurt, “I’m going to look that up for you, and then we’ll see you when you get home. I’ll text you the answer.”

When Dave hung up the phone, he came around behind Kurt to give him a hug, rubbing his arms. “Do you need help?” he asked. He wasn’t being mean; sometimes, it was genuinely easier for Kurt to just close his eyes and let someone else help.

Kurt shook his head, “Daddy’s bossy,” he complained.

“The bossiest,” Dave agreed. “Two minutes, and then I’ll be done.”

Kurt sighed nodded, and Papa left to check something for Daddy. Dave wasn’t gone for 20 seconds before McQueen had hopped up on the counter and was looking at Kurt. She knew who the soft touch with people treats was.

Kurt smiled. He’d never tried this before, but he’d seen McQueen eat french fries. This plan was fail-proof. Pushing his bowl forward, he smiled at the cat. “Nice kitty,” he said.

No luck. McQueen took one sniff of the bowl, and then gave Kurt an offended look. Kurt wanted to call for Papa and point out that MCQUEEN wouldn’t eat them. And she ate everything. Then he realized that perhaps Papa would not reward his ingenuity in quite the way that it deserved to be rewarded.

He sat miserably, thinking. He wished he had a dog. He bet a dog would eat this. OR! A hippo. Hippos loved brussels sprouts. He was certain of it.

They probably wouldn’t let him keep a hippo in the apartment. Maybe a baby hippo? Then Kurt remembered. Pygmy hippos! That was an excellent plan. They couldn’t be that big.

“Did you-” Papa stopped asking when he saw Kurt’s bowl. He wanted to just dump the damn sprouts, but Kurt had made such a fuss, and then he told him that he HAD to eat them. 

“Papa, I am a very good owner for McQueen,” Kurt began. 

Dave wasn’t sure where this was going, but he nodded, “You take excellent care of the cat.”

“I bet that I could be a very good owner to more than one pet at a time,” Kurt continued.

That wasn’t good. McQueen was wonderful, and Dave was happy that Kurt had stumbled upon him, but he didn’t want another pet.

“No more kitties. McQueen would be jealous.”

Kurt shook his head, “We need a pygmy hippo.”

Okay. Not what Papa had been expecting. “We need a pygmy hippo?”

“Yes Papa,” Kurt nodded, “We need one. Frank.”

“We need a pygmy hippo named Frank,” Papa repeated, not sure of how to respond to that.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think that Daddy would like that,” Dave responded carefully. This was a very weird conversation.

“He would, Papa,” Kurt nodded enthusiastically. 

“Okay,” Dave said. “Where would the hippo-”

Kurt interrupted, “Frank Papa. The hippo’s name is Frank.”

“Do you have an actual animal in mind, or have you just picked out a name?”

“His name will be Frank.”

“Okay. Where would Frank live?”

“With us,” Kurt thought this was all rather reasonable. 

“But where?”

“In the bath tub.”

Dave nodded at that, lips twitching a little when he thought of how Blaine was going to respond to hearing this request. Probably something about zoning laws.

“So, you think we should buy a pymy hippo, name him Frank, and we can have him live in the bath tub?”

“Yes. The president had one.”

“Obama had a pygmy hippo?”

“No,” Kurt rolled his eyes, as thought that was the most ridiculous thing ever, “Another president. Roosevelt maybe?”

“What would we feed Frank?”

Kurt shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and failing miserably. “I don’t know Papa. They’re herb’vores. So vegetables I guess.”

And that was the source of this conversation. “We’re not getting a hippo to eat your brussels sprouts Kurt.”

Kurt made an irritated face, “Not a hippo Papa. A pygmy hippo. Regular hippos are gigantic. And mean. And they run really fast. We couldn’t keep one in the apartment.”

Dave snorted at that, “We’re not getting any wildlife to live in the apartment.”

Kurt pouted for a moment, glaring at his brussels sprouts, and Papa finally leaned forward to ruffle his hair.

“Tell you what,” he started. Kurt looked up, interested. “I will only make you eat one of those brussels sprouts if you do something for me.”

Kurt nodded, “‘K Papa.”

“Will you tell Daddy about your plan when he gets home? I want to hear what he has to say.”

Kurt looked at Papa, “Daddy def’nitely wouldn’t let me get another pet. He only let me get McQueen because she was right there, meowing. It was too sad to leave her at the park.”

Dave nodded, “I know. But I’d like to hear what Daddy would say.”

“Zoning,” Kurt said, around a mouthful of brussels sprouts. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever eaten, but it wasn’t good.

“Kind of my thought,” Papa held out his hand for the bowl, and Kurt gratefully passed it over. “So, shall we bake cookies?”

Kurt nodded happily, eager to move on with the rest of their day.


End file.
